Trouble With Russia
by Vanishing-Velma
Summary: Russia, or Ivan Braginski, is struggling with his sudden attraction to America, aka the infamous Alfred F. Jones. The strange, obsessive thoughts will take a turn that will change both men's lives. (Yaoi, Medium-Use-Of-BDSM)
1. Pot Stir

_**The Anger of Russia**_

(Hello reader! This story was brought to you by Monster Energy! Stay awake my friends!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and do not make a profit from it. I'm merely a fan of butt se- I mean, homosexual love making. Please support the official release.

Chapter One: Pot Stir

I am severely troubled. Well, maybe just a little frustrated. Either way, it's due to the young man called Alfred F. Jones, a flat out American bastard.

So ignorant that man-child is. Hmmm… what age would he be if he lived a human's life span? Early twenties, maybe? He is a rather young thing, that flaxen-haired boy. That's what stems his ignorance, obviously. However, I don't feel superior to him, more like equal. I'm an old man compared to him, with myself being over a thousand years old and him, only two hundred. He's more powerful than a lot of countries, which makes him envious. I used to be the most talked about country, until everyone started bitching about how Americans were so shallow, vain, and horrible. Although I disagree on many points, I occasionally do agree on certain factors.

Anyway, as I sit here at the pointless world meeting, and muse to myself about the young man, he seems to be staring at me. I raise an eyebrow. Wasn't he supposed to be talking?

"The vorld meeting is dismissed," Germany booms. Oh, that's why. I stand up and slip out of the conference room, no France or China or Lithuania following me. Odd. I usually have one on my trail.

Back to my hotel room I went, the strange thoughts of America in my head. I was starting to get a damned headache. Trudging into the bathroom, I stare into the mirror. I look like shit. With a jerk, I open the medicine cabinet and open the pill bottle. I swallow four pills, and go back to lie on my bed. My back's knots seem to relax, and I close my eyes. The air is cool, and there is an imaginary lump in my throat. Sighing, I put my arm over my eyes, and turn to my left side.

_'Sleep,' _I told myself. _'Please just let me sleep.'_

I tossed and turned for what seemed like eternity. It was like an aggravating game: turn, stare at wall. Lay on back, stare at ceiling. Turn again, stare at wall. This process repeated itself over and over, and finally, I got so sick of it I darted out of bed and threw an empty plastic cup on the nightstand against the wall. What the hell was going on with me, damn it? I wanted to sleep, I craved it. What was stopping me from sleeping? I had no vodka, no energy drinks, it was just the obsessive thoughts over…

America.

That bastard has snuck into my mind! This couldn't be happening, not at all! I clench my fists, and punch the bed. Damn it, oh why, why, why? What kind of mind control was this? He's taken me hostage inadvertently! I bury my face into my hands, and gaze at the beige, carpeted floor.

Why do I think this way?

(A/N: Short chapter, I know. They'll get longer.)


	2. Slight Nostalgia

(Hallo again! I'm really glad I got a couple of reviews from my future minions- Oh, I mean, dear readers. Ich liebe dich alle. Oh, and any mistakes I make here or in the future are my children and will be fixed accordingly.)

Chapter 2: Slight Nostalgia

A restless night over that damned boy, and I don't know how to explain it. Why did I start thinking about him in the first place? Why am I so troubled?

After I take my afternoon shower, I decide to investigate this matter thoroughly. But how? Someone tell me! This feels so sudden. I'm used to unexpected change, I am, but what was this! My brow furrows so inward that it hurts my eyes. Sweat seems to pour down my face like a spout of water.

"Hey Ruzzia!" A familiar, French voice says shakily, literally shattering my thoughts. I roll my eyes. Why does he pursue me whilst I am trying to think?

"Hallo, France! Что ты здесь делаешь?"

(What are you doing here?)

"Uh... What?"

"Oh, right, you don't speak my native language. I'll let you in," I say before I think, going over to the door and unlocking it. I tower over the little, dirty blonde man. His eyes seem terrified.

"Well?"

"I-I, oh Cher Dieu! Something terrible haz 'appened," he stammers, whole body shaking.

(My god.)

"Relax France, what is wrong?"

"I can't find my... erm..."

"What, what is it?"

"Condoms."

I almost crack him across the mouth. Seriously, of all the things he had to bother me with...

"France, I know you fuck other countries," I state with a malicious tone. "They can't get pregnant unless you both agree."

"Well, I mean, they're for a perzon'z comfort."

My eyes roll again, and I go back into my room, and throw a box from my bag -one that I never use- at his stupid face.

"I'm sure they're much larger than what you're used to," I growl agitatedly. "Go away France."

"Thanks Ruzz-"

I slam the door shut, and I heard a gigantic smack from behind it. I smile. Annoying, that chauvinistic vixen is. Asking me for condoms! I stride to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette I had grabbed from my nightstand, a present from England. Probably the only one who knows what real cigarettes are, obviously.

I take a long drag, looking at the sleepless city. It's now three in the afternoon, and the sky is dimming. Time goes so fast in Berlin, Germany. I narrow my eyes, then lean back against the chair to take another huff in. Oh, Ivan, what have you done to yourself? You're absolutely insane. Why are you this way?

My tired eyes close themselves and I'm drawn into sleeping, the first time in twenty-four hours. The cigarette drops into the ashtray, my newly relaxed form taking over my mind.

The snow. All I saw during my childhood was white snow, the purest thing out there it seemed. I see Ukraine and Belarus knitting as I get firewood. They're on the porch of our old cabin that was deteriorating rapidly under the harsh conditions of all three of our homelands.

"Big sister," I said softy to not provoke her. "I'm done with the firewood. Can I go inside now?"

Ukraine doesn't even look at me, and shakes her head.

"No, Ivan, you cannot. Stay out here with us until our knitting is done."

"Пожалуйста, сестра. Я возьму Наталии со мной."

(Please, sister. I'll take Natalia with me.)

"Nyet, brother."

I look on at the thicker than ever forest, silence filling my ears. Ukraine could dictate anything she wanted. Anything at all and I was supposed to obey.

I awoke suddenly to a night-filled sky, the stars actually shining. I rub a hand over my face. What time was it? I lean across the porch's doorway, and look at the little alarm clock. In red letters, it read eight o' clock exactly. I was out for five hours? Didn't anyone notice? Oh yeah, I forgot. No friends, only family. Family I can rely on in very important instances, economic crisis, political issues such things as that. Emotionally, though? No, no I cannot.

I rub my hand over my face and get up to check my cell phone, a black flip phone. There's one text message. That's odd. I usually only get calls, never texts. I open the phone to a number I vaguely recognize:

'_Yo' dude, we have to meet face to face tomorrow to talk about relations and shit. Arrive at the American Embassy 11:00 am. Night, Ivan.'_

Ivan? Well that's certainly a first time experience. I'm interested. America's hasn't done business with me recently, except maybe on Russian adoption. I look forward to this.

(Ooooohhhh a meeting, in the second chapter? Development! Sorry if I couldn't fulfill my promise of longer chapters. I'm counting these as more introductory. Again, forgive me.)


	3. Shifting Situation

Chapter 3

(A/N: Sorry I've failed to update! I've had family bull shit!)

I arrived exactly at the time set, 11:00 am, at the American Embassy. I could breathe in the American dream as I walked through three clearance lines and the odd looks like by the, tome, foreigners. They would widen their eyes like terrified children, or whisper to a coworker about the tall Russian man who was about to see America. I would roll his violet eyes accordingly, and entered the elevator with more short American people. They ducked out immediately, and I gave a feral smile as the doors closed.

When I got out, there were two men in black waiting for him.

"Mister Braginski?" they both said simultaneously, and I nod. With a jerk they both turn around, and I follow them to huge, brown double doors. One of them goes in and confirms the appointment. They lead me inside and I saw Little America – well, not little. The still-innocent-looking man that has haunted my dreams for the past few days, sitting at his desk in a dark black suit filing his nails as if I weren't there. He looks up at me with those sky blue eyes and gives me a smile.

"Well, hello Ivan," he greets, getting up to shake my hand. To be polite, I shook it and we both sat down. I'm almost amused. Was he assuming the role of a grown up now?

"Good morning Alfred," I said as we adjusted ourselves. I saw something shine for a moment in the look he gave me, but he kept his smile.

"Good morning to you as well Russia. Under the circumstances from which I will tell you about in a second, we should be as familiar with each other as possible."

"Okay. So what exactly is it?" I lean back into my chair, crossing my arms. He seems to be struggling to speak.

"Well… given our history, I don't think I should be so blunt."

"Uh huh, so…?"

"Ivan… you know that the Americans and Russians have been allies, even somewhat through the Cold War, and well…" his grown-up façade is fading, and he seems to be sweating profusely.

"Do you need a handkerchief?" I ask. He shakes his head, and laughs despite his nervousness.

"W-Who carries those anymore?"

"I do. Now tell me," I lean forward, eyes staring into those blue pools of sky. "What's going on?"

He tries to regain himself and gives me a weak smile.

"Both of our embassies have agreed to us living together," he says in a blur of words. My hands start to shake, and I gasp, one of those rare times I would.

"You're… you're kidding, right America?"

"N-No, unfortunately," he says, not meeting my eyes. "Due to furthered relations with economic and social reasons."

I grit my teeth and get up, forming both of my hands into fists, Damned government, absolutely ignorant of them to have _him _tell me! I give him a glare and he sighs.

"Obviously you're angry."

"No shit!"

"Well I mean, Ivan, it isn't _all _that bad," he says with a cocky smirk. Obviously his arrogance has come back. "Maybe we could stop hating each other."

Hate each other? Those words pierce me through and through like a bullet. I never hated him… if only he knew.

"It is bad!" I spit back, sitting back in my chair.

"Why?"

"It just is."

"Come on!"

"Damn it!" I clench my fists tighter, than feel the anger bury itself inside me. I sigh erratically, and try to give him one smile. I think it looked lopsided.

"It's just really soon…"I start, staring at the table. "When do you have to move in?"

He looks at me puzzled, and then gives a little chuckle.

"Two days, your place for a month, mine for a month. Maybe longer."

"Can I have a coffee?" I ask, wiping the beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead. He nodded and called his secretary to get me one. We both sit in an uncomfortable silence, and then America bursts out laughing, blonde locks bouncing as he did.

"What the fuck are my bosses thinking?" he laments. "We may be both superpowers, but we have hardly enough in common to get by!"

The secretary places dark black coffee on a coaster and I drink it willingly.

"Da, I know," I said as she closed the door. "We're going to kill each other by the end of all of it."

We bring ourselves to yet another silence. He fiddles with his fingers, not looking at me again.

"Yeah," he finally said. "We just might."


	4. A Tidbit Content

Chapter Four

Forgive me! After chapter 3 of Trouble With Russia, life just managed to kick in like an ass it is. I promise, since it's summer to upload more chapters… plus more stories ;)

Fearful Expression

Tomorrow is the day that America (or, Alfred as I'm supposed to call him) is going to stay at my house for a month. This is just… plain awful. How am I supposed to be calm and collective as usual with him around? I'm still miserably confused about how I feel about the little blonde-haired child.

I'm also very frustrated at my country's government for not telling me about this earlier, because apparently this was being planned for about a _year. _Just ridiculous! I called them up and although I held back from yelling, I could tell that my tone scared them absolutely to death. _Good_, I had thought then. _Maybe they'll call off this whole thing. _

Of course they didn't though, and that's where I found myself glowering at the ceiling in my bed. I wanted to downright punch something, anything at all. I sat up and rubbed my hand over my eyes, sighing harshly. I had just remembered that damn American ate everything he found in his path. Or… was that just stereotype? Regardless, I needed to make a shopping trip sometime, and since I had an absolute addiction to morning showers, I couldn't make the trip in the morning of his arrival. No, I had to go tonight.

So I did. Got in my car and drove off. I'll spare the details of the whole event, but I came back with food that could last a long time, or at least for young America, three days or less. I couldn't help but crack a smile as I sat down on my living room couch and crossed my legs. I should just try and push him away by making fun of him – his personality, manners, face…

Though, making fun of his face and body would be hardest to do… Even from eating a lot, he still managed to be a healthy weight, and he was very strong for such a young man. My eyes widened as a very scantily-clad America flashed in front of me, those sky blue eyes that could make me drown in them. I fell off the couch and tried to shake the image from my mind. Smoothing back my hair, I picked myself up and went to the bathroom cabinet, which I managed to always go to in times of stress, and searched for the new sleeping aids. I'd recently bought the pills for obvious reasons, and they looked disgusting. They were little round tablets of a brown color that made me squirm internally. Popping two in my mouth, the taste was almost bad as the appearance. I flicked the faucet switch and caught the running water in my hands and them up to my mouth. I drank as much as that satisfied me.

Ten minutes later, I felt woozy, and smirked. I managed to drag myself to bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep, much to my pleasure.


End file.
